The chamber filled quickly as Aubrelle entered alongside Lysandra and Garrika, boots and hooves echoing softly against stone that still carried the sterile quiet of a place untouched by battle. Aubrelle's stag lowered its head slightly as if sensing tension lingering in the air, its breath misting faintly under the cold mana saturation surrounding the heirs' beds.
Aubrelle's gaze moved from one unconscious figure to the next before settling on Trafalgar.
"What do you see? Are they infected?"
Trafalgar did not answer immediately. His perception expanded, mana flowing through his senses with surgical precision as he examined skin, breathing rhythm, mana circulation, even the faint resonance each heir emitted. He searched for corrupted veins, foreign signatures, hidden sigils buried beneath flesh or soul.
There was nothing.
He exhaled quietly and turned toward her.
